I'll Try
by Ice Cube1
Summary: REPOST - AU future fic. A simple misunderstanding and a call to action leave the partners hurt, lost, and alone for the first time since they met. Things are said, and with both on the defensive, what will become of the pair?
1. Welcome to My Life

**Title: I'll Try – REPOSTED DUE TO FFNet removing it – see my website for the original version with song lyrics**

**Author: Ice Cube**

**Rating: T (K+ except for chapter 4 really)**

**Spoilers: Nope, none…except for some basic history on Booth, but that's all covered in the Pilot and some random quotes throughout the series to date**

**Disclaimer: Right, if I owned them anywhere outside of my dreams, the characters that are forthwith mentioned in this story would be making me a lot of money and very happy…so no, they aren't mine, and I'm a broke college student who has no money, so if you're going to sue, feel free, you won't get anything. Lyrics are the property of whomever deserves credit for them, I use them only to enhance the storyline.**

**Characters: Booth, Brennan, maybe some minor ones**

**Archives: Feel free; just let me know where so I can find it again.**

**Summary: AU future fic. A simple misunderstanding and a call to action leave the partners hurt, lost, and alone for the first time since they met. Things are said, and with both on the defensive, what will become of the pair?**

**Warnings: To those who think that I am capable of writing a fic that is torture free…I can't, and thus, if you don't want to see h/c, various possible tortures, and other forms of angst, find another story. **

**I don't have my stories beta'd, I'm too impatient to wait for someone to proof it after I've written it, so I apologize for any mistakes, and if you email me to tell me that they're there, I'll fix them later. Reviews are always a plus, it's great to know that people are reading my stories and like them, but as I'm a horrible reviewer, I won't hold my breath for them. Flames, however, will be treated with the utmost respect they deserve…they will be ignored completely or poked fun at with friends.**

**That said, on with the tale…**

**~**

**Chapter 1 – Welcome to My Life**

The bones on the exam table were always a comfort. There was no psychology here, there was no time. There was calcium, and minerals, and sterility. And she could understand everything about them. She'd been comfortable with the situation. She was Dr. Temperance Brennan, forensic anthropologist. Then she wrote a book. But that was still okay. It was still concrete and she could make sense of it. No one saw beneath her titles, no one knew what she was underneath a scientist and an author. Then he came along. Within weeks he had somehow created this break in her armor and nudged her out the door into the real world. The world filled with psychology and gut instincts and immaterial reasoning. The child that she had locked away at sixteen years old was screaming to be let into that world. And she didn't know what to do. Why couldn't everyone see that?

Everyone around her seemed to be fine. Angela had her drawings and Jack. Jack had his bugs…and Angela. Zach…well Zach had his robots and his "male bonding time" with Booth and his beetle races. Even Zach, who was so much like her, was different. So what did she do? She looked at her bones. She catalogued and filed and concluded. And that was okay before. Before he came. She never thought about it. But now…now Booth had thrown in the proverbial wrench and she found herself seeing things differently. He made her completely lost, and completely found all at the same time. And no one was ever supposed to get that close to her. Ever again. But he did, and now she had no idea what to do about it.

It was fine most days. Most days they went out and investigated and interviewed and Brennan was amazed at the conclusions Booth wheedled out of thin air. There were difficult cases, sure. There were the cases that would cut one or both of them into shreds and leave them reeling to put all of the pieces back together. It made it so that days like this, when they were in between cases, the adrenaline present was too much to bear. And when it got like that, Brennan became even more involved in her limbo cases. She poured her everything into identification, finishing reports, and trying to turn the nervous energy she felt into productive work. It put her very much on edge and everyone at the Jeffersonian knew that her temper was on a very short fuse when she was like this.

Brennan knew that people found excuses to stay out of her way when she got this wound up. Truth be told, however, she didn't really mind. It let her work more efficiently and let her live in that concrete world she missed so much. But it seemed that today, nothing was following that outline. Her alarm clock had gone off too early, her coffee had been too sweet, and no matter what she did, it seemed like the pile of unfinished files on her desk kept getting bigger instead of smaller. Cam wanted to see some serious progress on these cases, but it didn't seem to be happening.

When Cam pestered her for the fourth time that hour about what progress she was making on the set of bones in front of her, Brennan let out a little mewl of frustration. She turned on her heel and, with Cam following her, stomped to her office and slammed the door in her boss's face. Throwing herself into her desk chair, she booted up her computer and waited for the media player to open. She was just deciding which jazz playlist to run when she heard it. Booth was here.

"You don't want to go in there, Seeley. Believe me you don't."

"Don't call me Seeley, Camille."

"Just trust me on…" Brennan drowned out the conversation going on outside her door with the volume set on maximum. She honestly hoped for once that Booth would actually listen to Cam and go away.

No such luck.

The cocky FBI agent knocked softly on the door and Brennan was tempted to ignore it, feigning missing the sound due to the crescendo of the music she was listening to. Something seemed off, however, and without allowing herself to speculate on why she thought that, stood and moved to open the door.

Booth looked slightly haggard, but it wasn't enough that anyone besides Brennan would have noticed. On a normal day. Today she was so caught up in what was going on in her own life that the difference was overlooked. She missed the way that her partner sagged his shoulders just a little bit lower than normal. She didn't see that the sparkle in the corner of his eyes was missing. Brennan didn't notice that he stopped just inside of her door instead of throwing himself comfortably onto her couch. In short, her dealings with the dead blinded her to the plight of the man trying desperately to live his life right in front of her.

"What do you want, Booth? I'm kind of busy today."

"Oh, you know, Bones. Just wanted to drop by and see how you were doing."

Brennan sighed. She had a lot of work to do and not enough time to do it. Why couldn't people just leave her be when they didn't need her? Why couldn't they just let her get her work done?

"I'd be doing a lot better if I could get my work done." She stared pointedly at her partner to see if he would get the hint.

And Booth may have. If he didn't have something to tell Brennan. Something that couldn't wait and that he was still trying to work up the courage to say.

"So what, you can't take a few minutes' break for me, Bones?"

"No, Booth, I really can't. This is important work, and I need to get it done. Cam's waiting for…"

"Cam can wait a little while longer, Bones. These dead guys aren't going anywhere. Most of them are probably too old to have family waiting for them. Just, just sit and talk with me, Bones."

"Why do you keep saying my name?"

"What?"

"Every sentence you're calling me Bones. Why?"

"I…I dunno, Bones."

Brennan had gone back to her report and missed the look on Booth's face that clearly said he knew exactly why he kept repeating her name – like if he didn't, he would miss the last opportunity he ever had to say it.

"Fine. Whatever. I have work to do, so unless you have a case for us…" Brennan tried to push past Booth and head for the platform.

She could hear Booth sigh heavily and was almost past him when his hand shot out and grabbed hold of her arm. The movement startled her more than she cared to admit and instinct took over, dropping the man to the ground with a wrist lock that would have snapped the bones in his forearm had she not realized what she was doing. Booth never fought back, but the look in his eyes was one of betrayal as he cradled his arm to his chest, not moving to get up from his knees.

Brennan shut her eyes momentarily before heading off to the safety of the platform. She never acted this way towards him, what was going on with her now? There had to be some reason that she was this defensive. There had to be some explanation as to why she couldn't just relax for a few minutes and let her partner say what he needed to say. Surely that would be the most efficient way to get him out of her hair and get this feeling out of her chest.

The fact that maybe she was reading something into Booth's actions and that maybe that feeling was fear of what he was going to say didn't consciously cross her mind, but somehow Brennan knew that the best way to protect herself was to avoid the conversation, no matter what the cost. She had been hurt too many times in life to trust that it wasn't going to happen again, and self-preservation instincts were too deeply ingrained to break. An apology was definitely in order, she knew that, but beyond that were uncharted waters that would serve to cap the day she was having.

Things were swirling out of control as Brennan studied the bones on her exam table. She was caught between hoping that Booth would rush up onto the platform and demand an answer for what had just happened and that he would simply go away and give her some time to rationalize what was going on. Then she was torn between remaining in the sanctity of the platform and running back to her office and melting into Booth's arms begging forgiveness. She was unsure of where their relationship stood at the moment, the denial and tension had built up for so long that this new turn was throwing her into the deep end and not giving her a chance to tread water. Change was an inevitable part of human existence, all of her schooling had taught her that, but change was also frightening and gut-wrenching sometimes. Part of her wanted to explore what change with Booth would mean in the long run – to be able to become so wholly entwined with another that the boundaries of where one ended and the other began would be lost. She had seen what that was like in other people; had studied relationships that went along around her and gave her a hope that something like that could work out. But her own past experiences with relationships had given her a sense of hopelessness and desire all rolled into one. Emotions were very confusing to her. And definitely had no place in a lab.

So where did that leave her? And what was she to do about Booth now? The look in his eyes had rocked her to the core and set her fight or flight response to flight. But now that she could see him exiting the hallway, clearly looking for her, the adrenaline coursing through her veins turned towards fight. She was strong, independent, stubborn, and willful in the best of circumstances. She had told the man approaching her that she was busy, and so whatever he had deemed important would have to wait.

There was something to be said for being detached from the world around you. Once upon a time, Temperance Brennan would have been able to ignore the stares that her co-workers were gracing her with. Once, she wouldn't have cared that everyone could see that something was wrong, because she would have been able to hide it. But it's hard to hide a problem when it is a 6'1" man coming barreling down a hallway calling out her name.

"Bones. Stop. Please."

"Look, Booth. I'm sorry about your arm. You scared me and I reacted. If it's injured, I'll…"

"My wrist is fine, Bones. Forget about it. I need to talk to you about something. It's kind of important. Can you please just…stop for a minute?"

Booth had reached out to make contact again, but the twinge that shot up past his elbow from the aggravation stopped him from actually laying a hand on the headstrong woman in front of him. Brennan noticed the hesitation and couldn't help being concerned at the physical discomfort her partner was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to hide. She grasped his palm in her own and palpated the carpal and long bones that made up the joint, searching for disparity.

"Nothing's broken that I can tell, but the evidence of fever and developing ecchymosis suggests that there is at least some soft tissue damage to the area. You should ice it and possibly compress the area for the next day or so."

Booth resisted the urge to roll his eyes and took his hand back from the scientist in front of him. "I don't care about that right now, Bones. Please, can we just go somewhere and talk? Please?"

"Look, Booth. You already said that we don't have a case, and…"

"No I didn't. You just assumed that we don't."

"Well do we?" She called his bluff easily.

"Well…no, but…"

"Then like I was saying, I have work to do here that is important to the Jeffersonian and to me, so whatever it is, it's going to have to wait."

"It can't wait. Temperance, please." The man in front of her was almost pleading now, and it set her even more on edge. Something was wrong. Something that she wasn't going to like and therefore didn't want to hear. There was nothing for it; she had to avoid the problem at all costs.

"Booth, calm down. You're being irrational and getting all worked up over nothing. We don't have a case, so shouldn't you be getting some work done at the office? I'm sure Cullen has things that you need to do there just like I have things I need to do here."

"This _is_ important, Bones."

"Stop saying my name every time you open your mouth. It's unnecessary. I know that you're very clearly talking to me, and don't need to be reminded of it with every sentence. It's childish."

I don't care, Bones. You're going to stop what you're doing and listen to me even if it kills you. Or me."

"I'm not one of your suspects that you can just order around. I'm not one of your lackeys that will drop everything that they're doing to fulfill your every beck and call. I. Am. Busy. You'll just have to come back later when I'm done."

"I have never thought of you as anything less than an equal in this relationship, Dr. Temperance Brennan. Never. Which is why I came here. I understand that you're busy. I do. But this…person…isn't going to go anywhere in the next few minutes or so, and I could really use your ear for a minute."

There was something in Booth's voice that was offensive to her. Like a scared child in need of reassurance. Something like that should never come out of him, and it frightened her. It sounded so much like the memory of her calling after Russ so many years ago.

But she had to be strong. That was what she did. She was on her own, always. That way no one could ever hurt her the way her family did again. So she ignored the emphatic gestures that Angela was making behind Booth's back to listen to him, ignored the pull in her chest that told her five minutes wouldn't harm anything.

"It'll have to wait, Booth. I'm busy right now."

"It. Can't." Booth was yelling now, and it startled even Zach, who was trying as hard as he could to pretend that nothing was going on and that his own little corner of the lab was far removed from the drama at stage right.

His voice quieted to the point where Brennan almost missed his next statement. "There's no time."

"Look, Booth. I don't know what has caused this reaction. Clearly your hormones are at an increased level right now, but you can't always be right. You're not thinking straight right now, and suddenly your idea of what should revolve around you is being questioned. So I don't blame you for being agitated, but that is no reason to come into my lab and act the way you are. You serve a purpose here, and this is clearly not it. You are disturbing my work, and I am nicely asking you to come back later when you have calmed down."

_Please, whatever it is, it's not going to be good. Please don't tell me, I'm afraid to know. Can't you see that?_ The defense mechanisms that had kept Brennan safe in the past were firing at full effect and not letting her or her partner have a moment of clarity as to what could be done to find a peaceful resolution. She wasn't sure exactly where this was coming from, but every time she stopped to think about it, one look at Booth's posture and the fire in his eyes had her turning another corner to find her safe area.

If there was one thing Brennan had learned over the years, it was that everyone would betray her in the end. She had gotten complacent and let the man in front of her worm his way through her walls and started to trust him. She had forgotten for a time all the foster families who had turned her away, all the times that she had expected to find some peace only to be handed another garbage bag and told that it was the end of the line. She had forgotten that the first people who were supposed to love her unconditionally and keep her safe had left her behind like a broken toy. There was nowhere in the world that she belonged, and that was all coming crashing back down on her now.

It was her own fault, really. She was so different from him, so damaged, so lost. She was in uncharted territory with this and she should never have let the relationship progress this far. It should have stayed all business and never gotten personal. Personal attachments were a waste of time and got in the way of accomplishing her goals. She never should have allowed herself to believe that she could have anything different. His family life had been so different than hers, she knew that. He had a family who, despite whatever problems they had, had stuck together and were still able to be considered a unit. They hadn't abandoned him at the first sign of trouble like hers had.

Booth had been opening and closing his mouth for the last few minutes, trying to figure out where things had gone so wrong, she supposed.

"I…have a purpose here? What am I, one of your instruments?"

"Clearly not, you are a human being, albeit a rather irrational one right now. You are no more a piece of metal than I am."

"That's not what I meant, Bones. Look, I…"

"Whatever it is, Booth, I don't want to know. I thought I was making that clear to you, but obviously not. You have been a great help into the work that we do for the FBI, but you are not now, nor have you ever been, helpful to the work that we do for the Jeffersonian. So…"

"So what you're saying, basically, is that you're just using me to get what you need. Gee, thanks Bones. I appreciate it." She could see Booth almost foaming at the mouth, trying to keep his emotions in check. "I thought I meant more to you than that."

The words cut her deeply, and she wasn't entirely sure why.

"You are a detriment to everything that I am doing here and you are wasting my time. You are being disruptive and I will not tolerate it in my lab." She knew the words were wrong the moment she said them. She saw the anger manifest itself as redness in his cheeks and spasms in his skeletal muscles. Never before had words failed her as completely as this. Never before had she felt so wrong.

"Detriment? Disruptive? Dr. Brennan, you ain't seen nothing yet." Brennan saw it happening before it actually did, but was rooted to the spot. Sure they had argued before, but it had never gotten to this level; she had never actually fought with Booth. That hurt her as much as the left scapula that flew into her ear as Booth swept the bones off her exam table, breathing hard and looking aghast at what he had done.  
~~~~~

Brennan was apalled at the mess that was now surrounding her. Never before had she seen him this worked up about anything, and never before had she felt so disrespected by something he had done. Any thought of reconciling with him was lost among the ruins of the skeleton around her and she snapped. No one disrespected her or her things in this lab. No one.

"Get. Out. And don't come back here for awhile. I don't want to see you."  
~~~~~

Booth turned on his heel, muscles in his face twitching with anger and hurt. She knew that he tried to turn fast enough so that she wouldn't see him weak – it was his nature after all. But she saw them anyway. Saw the tears that were fighting to escape the corners of his eyes at her dismissal.

_Oh God, what have I done?_

~~**~~

So yeah, Brennan may seem a little bit OOC right now, but the way I figure it, there has to be some serious defense mechanisms kicking in with the lack of sleep and adrenaline fueling them. On top of that, she clearly knows Booth well enough to see that something is seriously wrong – with him and with what he has to say – so she is going to react to that on a subconscious level to protect herself from being hurt, being abandoned, being left behind – whatever she thinks the threat to her safety net is…


	2. Scars

**Thanks for all the reviews for the first chapter. I think I forgot to mention that each chapter is supposed to be set to a song, and was meant to be read with those lyrics interspersed. The first chapter was set to Welcome to My Life by Simple Plan and this chapter should be set to Scars by Papa Roach. On my website, the chapters have the lyrics in the body of the story as well as the music video playing at the top.**

**Chapter 2 – Scars**

After the day's events, Booth wanted nothing more than to make it into his apartment in one piece. There was a twelve-pack of beer in his fridge and a marathon of mindless television ahead of him. The letter that he had received earlier that morning was still clenched in his fist, Zach's words from Angela and Jack's first wedding attempt echoing in his ears.

"You know more about duty and honor than anyone else I know."

He didn't know why, but those words now wouldn't leave him alone. _What about honor and duty to what I have here?_ Booth thought as he sped around another corner, earning himself a few glares as his tires squealed. His thoughts wandered to his son; Parker meant more to him than anything else, and now he would have to leave him behind as if the boy meant nothing. Booth knew he would be doing it to keep his boy safe, his boy and the rest of the country, but the words rang just a little bit hollower than when he enlisted all those years ago. _My son is growing up so fast as it is. What else am I going to miss now?_ It was no secret that the FBI agent rarely got to see Parker, and would have seen even less of him if Rebecca had her way, it seemed. But, they lived within easy driving distance of each other. He could only wonder how far removed he would be from his son's life if he ever made it back to the capital city. _When…not if, when._

Booth's past history was screaming in his ear, just waiting to take hold of his thoughts and emotions. He could already feel his feet beginning to ache, his ribs and the muscles surrounding them feeling tight and sore. He thought he had put this part of him behind him already; kept it under lock and key in the backmost corner of his heart. He had had a few too many close calls the last time around – and he didn't even have as many people at home worrying whether or not today was going to be the day the Marshals showed up at their door. Booth stopped the car outside his apartment complex and absently rubbed the scar on his left arm left by the graze of an enemy sniper's bullet before reaching for his keys. That beer was still calling his name.

By the time he was through half of the beer in his fridge, Booth's tie and dress shirt were long gone, and his normally well-groomed hair was mussed from running his hands through it. Just hidden above the hairline, he could feel the jagged line where the butt-end of an AK-47 had met his skull. He could hide the scars from most, could pretend that they didn't exist and didn't affect him, but they were always still there. Still painful reminders of what happened when you were less than perfect.

The beer cans that littered the floor around the coffee table had long been forgotten. The smell of whiskey now surrounded Booth as he tried to drown out the cries of his friends, the crackle of electricity through steel wool from batteries, and the crack of pipes on bruised flesh. One hand was fisted in his hair, pulling so hard that he could still feel the twinge through the alcohol haze. The other hand gripped the tumbler half-full with amber liquid as it tracked to his mouth once more. He had three days to get everything in order, and he planned on spending at least tonight in various stages of oblivion.

He barely heard the frantic knocking at the door, but as he concentrated on it harder, he realized that the sound had been there for some time. Booth was normally a happy-go-lucky drunk, content to spout out random thoughts as they came to him. But when he drank with a purpose, like tonight, he was much more like burning embers – smoldering and calm until someone came around and stirred him back up. Then he ignited fast and furious.

Booth looked longingly into his glass, swirling around the alcohol before pushing himself to his feet. He had a good idea who was at the door, and knew that it was only a matter of time before she got out her spare key anyway. He didn't need to add any more fuel to the fire that had been started this afternoon in the lab. To his credit, Booth only stumbled once before getting his feet under him and opened the door. Sure enough, there in all her spitfire glory, was one Temperance Brennan.

"Booth…" Her gaze drifted subconsciously to the muscles on his chest before taking in the glass of whiskey and his overall disheveled appearance.

"What are you doing here? I thought you made it pretty clear earlier that you wanted nothing more to do with me."

"I was angry."

"Yeah, so I noticed. Look, I'm really not in the mood tonight, I…" he was cut off as she pushed her way into the apartment.

Booth was left staring at the door as Brennan walked to the kitchen. Sighing loudly as he shut the door and locked it, he turned to deal with round two. The whiskey in his glass looked all the more inviting, but he put it down on the counter before leaning against it and scrubbing his face with his hands. _She looks nervous; her eyes are darting around and her breathing is quicker than normal._ The sniper in him took in these details almost unconsciously, and he waited for her to start.

"Look, Booth. I don't know what your problem was today, but you were acting completely irrationally. I was very busy trying to get my reports in to Cam and you came in all flustered and agitated."

Booth opened his mouth to reply that maybe there was a reason for that when she cut him off and continued.

"You know that the work I do outside of helping you with your cases is just as important to me, and I can't be expected to stop everything I'm doing at the fall of a hat to have a conversation with you whenever you feel like it."

"Drop of a hat," he muttered, but she ignored him.

"You know that I don't understand when you get so worked up about things like you do, so you're just going to have to learn to act more rationally. Anthropologically, you…"

This time Booth did cut in. "Anthro…" he stuttered through the word before standing up quickly from the counter. You don't get it, I understand that, Bones. I have to do that. I have to."

He ran his fingers through his hair almost frantically. "They teach you how to shut it all off. They teach you how to suppress everything, how to bury it so deep down that after awhile, everything's sewn up so tight, you forget _how_ to feel. You forget how to be…_human_. You take one life, then another, and after awhile, you start just taking shots and that's all they are – shots. There's no life. Then, when you get all good and cold and numb, they let you loose back in the world and they never teach you how to see people as people anymore. You're so closed off in the world that you don't know what to do. Some of us drink, some of us smoke, some of us gamble like I did," he paused, "and when that doesn't bring enough feeling back, some eat a bullet. I told myself that I'd never do that – I can't. I can't do that and I can't ever be that closed off again. But I can't seem to find the balance either, I guess. I have to feel. I have to…to be human. Otherwise, I'm back in the desert, back in the jungle, firing off just another shot."

Brennan was floored. "Where did all of this come from?"

Booth just shrugged and refilled his glass. How could he tell her? The letter crinkled in his pants pocket as he remembered earlier in the day.

"Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, there was a reason that I was all 'worked up' today? That maybe I had something important that I needed to tell you, and that maybe being irrational was the only way I could get your attention away from those damned bones, Bones?" The volume of his voice was rising with each comment, and he found himself wondering, and not for the first time, when she had gotten so far under his skin.

"Did you ever think that maybe I had something bigger than I could deal with, and maybe I needed to share it with you so that it wouldn't seem so…so…big? That maybe I needed a friend today and not just a co-worker?"

"What?" Brennan looked up from where she was studying the tiles.

"Maybe I needed some perspective on me. Maybe I needed to see that what we have is more important than someone who died in Timbuktu seventy million years ago. Maybe I just needed to know that I meant something to you."

"I don't think that the remains come from Timbuktu, or are seventy million years old, Booth. There is no evidence of West African descent or…"

"It's an expression, Bones. Just an expression."

"Then why say it?"

Booth sighed and rubbed his face again. "I don't know, okay. It's not the point here. The point is that…"

"That you're trying to rationalize being irrational, I get that."

This time, the FBI agent grabbed his glass and downed the alcohol before walking to his couch and falling into it. "Why did you come here, Bones?"

"I wanted…I wanted to see…"

"I'm not some _National Geographic_ study, Bones."

"I never said that you were, Booth. What's your problem today?"

"My problem? My problem. I don't know Bones, maybe I just thought that I was rubbing off on you a little bit. You know, after all this time that maybe I was more than just another tool, another means to an end. That maybe after all this time you would notice human emotion as more than just some…biological…thing."

"A reaction to increased levels of hormones, but I still don't see where you're going? I don't understand."

Booth let out an exasperated sigh. "I can't keep doing this, Bones. I can't. I've spent the last how many years trying to get through to you, trying to get you to see that logic can only get you so far. Your science can't…it can't explain everything, you know. There are more things on…"

"Heaven and Earth than can be explained by my science, yeah I've heard you say it before. But surely even you can see that faith in some…" she attempted to tread lightly since it was clear that Booth was already agitated…"invisible deity that controls everything is skewed."

Clearly, treading lightly did not work.

"You know, once upon a time I might have gotten into that with you. I've gotten drawn into these debates before, Bones. And I might even want to hash this out with you tomorrow when I'm sober. But, God damn it, Bones. I have spent our entire relationship trying to figure out what makes you tick, and I still don't know where I stand with you. You light this…this fire in me that makes me realize that maybe I am a good person, that maybe those 49 people I killed aren't waiting to drag me down to Hell with them." Booth trailed off, caught in his own memories before looking up once more. The look on his partner's face would have caused stronger men than he to take back every word they'd ever said; to beg for forgiveness.

"Booth, you are a good person. I just don't understand why we have to keep going through this. It's your past, and we all have…ghosts in the closet…"

"Skeletons."

"Fine. I don't understand why we keep dredging this up."

"Because it's not my past anymore." Booth startled her by standing abruptly and throwing the empty glass into the wall.

"W-what?"

"That's what I was trying to tell you this afternoon. That's what was so important that I needed you to take a few minutes away from your precious skeletons. Clearly, you didn't care enough then, so just forget it. Just go home and write some more of your book or listen to your Tibetan…throat singers or whatever. Obviously, I was wrong when I thought that being partners could mean more to you than some historical find. It's my fault." Booth was yelling now, but he didn't care. _It'll be easier to leave her if she's mad at me._ Somehow his faulted logic was fueling his tirade.

"I got too close, that's all. I left myself open to you and I saw today just how little that mattered. I know better now, Brennan. Just…just leave me alone."

"Booth, I'm sorry for this afternoon, I really am. Just, please, talk to me now. What do you mean, it's not your past anymore?" The use of her last name stirred up feelings she didn't know how to describe. Brennan didn't know how to tell him that he meant more to her than anyone else. It just wasn't her way. She couldn't get hurt again.

"I thought it was all over. I thought…I thought I could get into the FBI and make my amends. I didn't think that…" Brennan was surprised to see tears checked at the corners of his eyes. The only time he ever got like this was…

"No, Booth. No…" She was starting to see.

"I have a son now. I have…" _you. I have you to worry about, Bones._ "Parker needs me, and something like this is all Rebecca needs to take him even further away from me."

Booth pulled the letter from his back pocket. He handed it silently to her, running his hands through his hair yet again.

The apartment was silent as Brennan read through the letter, her hands shaking as one gripped the paper with increasing intensity, and the other hiding her lips from view. Booth watched with detached concentration. The alcohol that had once given him the strength to push her away was now fading.

"Three days?"

"That's all you've got?"

"Booth, it's 1 am. I've been up since five. And this…I didn't expect this. Not at all."

"You think I did? You think I wanted to get this? That I wanted my life to be ripped to shreds when I was just starting to get it back on track? Do you think I want to go back there? To have to do all of that again? To wonder if I'm going to be coming back in one piece? How many more scars am I going to have if I do make it back?" _Will you still be here for me?_

"Of course not. I don't want this to happen any more than you do. Believe me, if I could make it not happen, I would. I just…" she ran her fingers through her long tresses. "I want you here, Booth. Working with me. And I don't know how to make that happen. I don't want to work with anyone else, we work well together. You…you're my gun. You're my safety net." Booth could tell there was more she wanted to say, but couldn't bring herself to voice them, and he cut her off harshly before she could. _I can't get my own act together if I need to protect her._

"You know, why does it seem like the only reason you're acting this way is because I already have one foot out the door?"

"I don't know what that means."

"That's my point, Bones. Why don't you just…just go home. Please."

"Booth, no. I…I…"

"You, you what? I can't do this right now, Bones. I can't make you understand and make myself understand all at the same time, and if I don't get my own head around this, I'm not gonna be any good to anyone, here or there. I've gotta do this by myself or it's going to be too hard." He stood up so quickly that Brennan couldn't help but stand by default. He was so close to her, invading her personal space and still yelling.

"I don't have a choice in the matter, and neither do you. I don't have a choice like Zach did, and even if I did…how could I not go?" He took another step towards her, effectively moving her towards the door.

"I…"

"With Rebecca letting me see less and less of Parker, and you getting more and more wrapped up in your book and limbo, there's…" _Say it, damn it._ _You have to say it. Even if you don't believe it, Seeley. It's for the best._ "There's just nothing for me here, anymore. So maybe this comes at a perfect time. Just…I have to get on with this." Booth could taste blood in his mouth from the strength he was putting in to biting his tongue to keep the tears at bay. _Detach, Seeley. It's just like they taught you about escaping the pain if you're captured. And damn, if you weren't good with that._

The hurt written across Brennan's face was plain as day, the fears she had long harbored that he would leave again were threatening to overtake her, "You…you don't mean that. You all think I'm cold and can't see past your lies. But I have news for you, Seeley Booth. I did learn a few things from working with you. One of which was how to recognize minute changes in body language. And you, Seeley Booth, are lying through your teeth. And I hate you for it." Without uttering another word, or letting him stop her, Brennan stormed for the door and struggled to pull it open. She fumbled with the lock and slammed the door closed behind her, turning to place one hand on the cool wood.

The sound of the slamming door rocked Booth to his core, and all the emotion that had been coursing through him as anger turned radically to fear and regret. His broad shoulders started to shake as they held him up against the door, and before he knew what was happening, he could feel skin sliding on wood as his knees buckled. _It's better this way. It'll be easier to leave if I know that she's going to move on. But God do I need to know that she's going to be here to pick up the pieces when I come back. Am I coming back?_

"Booth," she looked at the closed door and a single tear tracked down her cheek. "Please, don't go."

~~**~~


	3. Superman

**Chapter 3 – Superman**

But alas, regardless of whispered desires and unvoiced regrets, orders are orders and three days later Booth had found himself on a plane back to his old life. He had been surprised and dismayed at how fast he had closed himself off again. He was already counting his "shots"; he had only let himself have one "kill" before shutting down. He had spent the night he came back from his first mission hidden in his bunk, clenching his fist around his dog tags and Saint Christopher's medal and witnessing his humanity leak out of him through his tears. After that night, he became the Sniper, not Special Agent in Charge Seeley Booth, FBI liason to the Jeffersonian, father, and so many other things that made him a functioning member of the human race. He had to let Parker and Bones and his entire family go, had to bury them so deeply that they couldn't peek out of his heart and see the horrors he was perpetrating. He had to protect them; even across continents and oceans. He was their Paladin.

So after that night, he hadn't let himself feel anything at any moment. Calls with his son were superficial, and it seemed that the boy was still young enough to miss the difference. And even if he wasn't, Booth couldn't let himself wonder about it. Letters were easier. He and Brennan kept up a vaguely steady pattern of correspondence thoughout his tour to date. He kept every single one in his BDU's unless he was out on a mission. He couldn't bring those out into the field with him. For one thing, it was like taking her with him. He had found at the very beginning of their partnership that just having her with him opened him up to everything. Then there was the possibility of capture. He had learned the hard way last time that something as innocent as a child's stick-figure drawing could be the end of you. Because when that picture was burned, it didn't matter how many of your friends had been mutilated and murdered in front of you, how many broken bones were in your feet, how many times you had been burned with steel wool and batteries. It was worse trying to put the embers of your son's innocent school work back together than anything else they could think of.

It had almost broken Booth the last time. He didn't know how much longer he would have lasted if rescue hadn't come when it did. He didn't know how he would have been able to get past the gambling if he had been held very much longer. So now when he was sent out to do his job nothing personal but his dog tags went with him. He was represented by two cold pieces of steel wrapped in black rubber; nothing else. All he let himself be was a tool meant to follow orders and perform his duty in order to complete his tasks. He could feel the cold metal presed against his chest now and it reminded him how cold he had made himself.

_What would Bones think of me now?_

Booth had been stationary for three days. He had long since tuned out his spotter's presence, forgetting that the man was anywhere near him. _What am I doing here? This isn't me anymore._ Booth imagined himself physically stuffing those thoughts back into the sack that housed his humanity and sewing it up tightly. Outwardly the only event that proved the sniper was even alive was a bead of sweat that tracked from his hairline down past his outer eye before dripping off the center of his chin into the moss he was laying on. It was no use though. The pathway had been opened, and now his thoughts were pummeling him. Booth had a life back home. He had a son he was responsible for shaping. A career. A relationship that was in the balance. Yet here he was in this Hell, far from all of that. He sought to even the cosmic balance sheet and hopefully save the tattered pieces of his soul before God. Yet he was out here playing God. He believed in a system of justice and checks and balances, and he was effectively judge, jury, and executioner for every target that he took out. How could he go back and face Parker? How could he ever tell him the difference between right and wrong and teach him how to become a good man? _Am I a good man? Am I a righteous soul worth saving? A good role model? Should I be anywhere near Parker at all?_

The line of sight from Booth's scope drew his eye back down to the camp where his mission was supposed to play out. He had yet to see the target, but knew that the minute he showed up, instinct would take over and the job would be completed. He would then be extracted and would be back in his bunk, waiting to be sent out again. He would reread Brennan's letters and stare at the newest pictures that Parker had drawn for him. A card or two from some program back home meant to give soldiers a little more hope from concerned citizens would be on his foot locker, and he would cherish those as well. It meant something to him that the public was trying to show support for a war that they may not believe in. At least they could believe in the men and women that believed in it. _What was it that Bones said that time? That even if she couldn't respect the law, she could at least respect me? And I told her that that'll work. It's all I have now._

But besides that, he would remain cold and detached. That was all he had become since being thrown back into this world. That was what he had aspired to be when he was a scared 22-year old kid enlisting in the Army straight out of college. He wouldn't take back a minute of it, knew that the duties he was performing trickled back down to protecting his country and everyone in it. He understood the honor of it, believed in the necessity of his tasks, and was glad that this had been his past. Now if only he could keep his crisis of faith and his understanding and beliefs in his jobs along the same line, maybe he could find some peace.

_I'm more than this. I'm more than a monster destined to take others' lives at the drop of a hat. Or am I?_ Booth thought back to his cosmic balance sheet once more. He had taken 49 lives during his first stint as a sniper. He had vowed to even that out by becoming an agent in the FBI, catching murderers and hopefully notching some good into his repertoire, but was he really doing that? He had continued to play God with people's lives even after getting his shiny new badge and his office with his name etched into the glass. Howard Epps had come and gone from his life, another kill despite whether or not anyone else blamed him for it. He had shot and killed Farid Masruk trying to stop a terrorist act from taking place, and the only remuneration he had offered was to not take credit for the kill.

Now he was out in the wilds of his latest mission, and Booth wasn't naïve; he knew the odds of him coming back from these treks were never in his favor. There was always the chance that his card would be up on the next trip out. He tried to avoid thinking about leaving his family behind, tried to bottle them up inside with the rest of what made him a human being. It was hardest when he was in camp. He listened to the greenhorns talk about all their big plans for the future and wondered if the old hats had been as jaded about him as he now was about them. He knew that many of them would never get to see their dreams come true – even if they did make it back home. Then there were those who wouldn't even make it home with a heartbeat – just a coffin and a flag and maybe a medal that they would never see. They didn't want to hear about his insights into this, he knew. So he kept his own confidences about life back home when he was being social. He wanted to tell them all about what his son had done in school, about what Brennan had found that day in the lab. But he couldn't do it.

He kept his celebrations at their accomplishments silent and for the privacy of his bunk. He appeared to everyone in his unit as a loner, and he was okay with that this time around. He didn't want to show everyone how attached to back home he was. It scared him to think that if he started to talk about his family and his squints that somehow it would signify that he was never going to see them again. Nothing would look the same if he got back, he knew that, remembered it from the last time around. But maybe if he didn't talk about them, let their memories dull in his mind, maybe this time if he got to see them again it would be enough to make him forget about everything he saw in country. Maybe the crisp new images that he would be able to see if he got back would drown out the horrors he had to perpetrate here. Maybe his family would be enough to save him this time. He could only hope.

On his previous mission, Booth's odds had nearly been up. It had all been coincidental, and it threw him for a definite loop. There was a small child playing in the bush near where he and his spotter were lying in wait. They had both been aware of the boy, but there was enough distance between them that it shouldn't have been an issue. At the last minute, the boy had started throwing rocks at some nearby birds, and they lifted off in flight, causing his target to get jittery. The target and his companions had started shooting into the twilight, scaring off the boy but clipping Booth's shoulder as well. It wasn't enough of a wound to send him home, but his spotter had been badly injured, and the target had almost gotten away. Nothing tore Booth up more than having to shoot someone in the back, but orders are orders and the man was a danger and needed to be taken out. Another peace-keeping mission in the books, another life to atone for.

Brennan had sent him a letter that happened to get to Booth's camp the same day he had come back from the mission. He had gotten patched up before heading for some sleep, almost not seeing the envelope. After reading her assurances that everyone at home was waiting for him to get back and that she knew he was okay, he wished he hadn't seen it until after getting some rest. The words were hollow and meaningless to him then, and he found himself getting frustrated at himself for getting angry at her. Blood was still seeping from his shoulder and she had the nerve to tell him that he was okay? What did she know about it?

_Plenty, you idiot_, he found himself chastising multiple times as he read through the letter over and over the next day. He had seen for himself during their partnership just how much she knew about the world outside of their country's borders. She may not have known any of the pop culture references that he made on a daily basis, but she knew what it was like to witness the suffering and death of others, and he always had respected her even more because of that.

The high pitched trill of a bird somewhere over his head brought Booth out of his ruminations momentarily. His spotter had been saying something about the length of time and validity of intel, and the sniper was surprised to see that he was able to carry on a conversation and had been doing so despite all of the thoughts racing through his brain. _Bones would have a field day with that one. Nothing races through the brain unless it is electrical impulses, and those would…oh God, I'm turning into a squint._ He wondered idly if the target was even in this camp, seeing as how they had seen a number of people come and go that weren't their responsibility. Booth found himself watching the patterns drawn by the footsteps of the people he was observing. They all moved together as a unit to accomplish whatever tasks were being performed, but each individual made paths through the camp that were their own. It seemed to him to be very much like the military worked. Everyone could accomplish a goal by doing their part, but some were more likely to do so by being alone.

His image as a loner often was the source of several veiled stares when the new men came into camp. He knew that stories of his successes his last time in uniform had preceded him, and to the numerous eighteen-year old 'kids' who came in with high hopes and jaded dreams he was a bit of a legend. Even the men who had been there for some time and worked more behind the scenes placed him on a pedestal in their storybook fairy tales about what went on out on the front lines. He hated it when he came back after a mission and they were all in awe of what he had done. It was as if taking another life was something that should become a tale of triumph and adventure to be regaled over and over, making him out to be the hero. Even back home, his buddies wanted to know what he had done and how good it felt to be accomplishing what he set out to do. Of course there was a sense of pride in knowing that he had succeeded, he wasn't going to deny that. He knew that he could be counted on and that the higher ups saw him as dependable and that was fulfilling, but it didn't erase the fact that he was ending someone's life. It didn't heal the pieces of him that died every time he took another shot.

There was nothing glamorous about what he did. He didn't want to be seen as a hero, didn't want to have his deeds viewed as joyous accomplishments. He did what he did because it was what he had to do, and nothing that came from that should be extolled as anything more than a man completing a job he was set to do. If he allowed himself to revel in the fact that he was good at what he did for any other reason than to protect the people he was sworn to, then he wouldn't be any better than the men he was fighting against. It was how Booth lived his life, both in uniform and back home. There was a fine line between good and evil, and if he let himself get too high off the success he found easily, then that line would be obliterated. _Always with the lines, hunh_ _Seeley?_ _Always._

Parker had drawn him a picture of Superman in class one day. They were supposed to be making a representation of their parents for art class, and when Booth had opened the construction paper-framed picture, he had been surprised and also lost at how to appreciate the image. He was glad that his son, whom he got to see far too little of in his opinion, thought so highly of him, but at the same time, Booth wasn't sure he was deserving of the image. How could he live up to his son's vision when he couldn't believe he was doing the right thing some days?

Parker's Superman picture had come with Brennan's last letter. The two of them were spending more time together since he had left, and he was glad for it. _Bones needs a Booth in her life._ She needed someone who would challenge her, and even at his son's young age, Parker could do that. It never ceased to amaze Booth how much his son had grown up on him in the past few years. He was on his way to becoming smarter and more confident than Booth had been at that age. The sniper's only hope was that his son didn't follow in his footsteps. He would do anything to spare Parker the identity crisis that came with the results of choosing to become a sniper. More than that, if he was really honest with himself, Booth didn't want Parker to ever see what it was that he truly did. He wanted to remain his little boy's hero for the rest of his days. He wanted to be that picture more than anything else in the world. The Army Ranger wanted to be Superman for his son, wanted to protect him from whatever evil came his way. Then again, he wanted to come home every night to his son telling him what Joey and Mikey did to the girl on the swings and what he learned in school that day. And he wanted Bones to share in that. So maybe all he really wanted was what every parent wants in life: for their child to be better off than they were, and to be more successful in life than them. If he ever got any of the other stuff too, well then that was a sweet, cherished bonus, now wasn't it?

Booth's target had finally made his presence known in the camp and at his spotter's first words, fingers were moving to tweak settings and ranges were being calculated. The scope became a part of him as he sighted his quarry and stretched his trigger finger. With an ease cultivated from years of training and practice, the sniper laid the bed of his finger along the trigger and began to squeeze. Nothing mattered but accomplishing the objective. The ambient sounds that had been a part of his wait faded away, anything that could distract him was forgotten and did not enter into the threshold of his mind. As the bullet exploded from the barrel of his weapon and sped along its path of destruction, time seemed to stand still. This could be, perhaps, why he never heard the sound of his spotter falling wordlessly to the ground. It could be that the steps that signified his spotter's attacker approaching him were too quiet to hear while he took out another target. The first sign he had of something being wrong was when he did not get confirmation of mission objectives being completed. He knew something was wrong and finally got his brain to work normally again as he turned to ask what was going on. A twig cracking was the first sound he heard since taking the shot.

The butt of a rifle connected with Booth's head as he turned to react to the noise. The last thing he saw before passing out was the smirk of a man beginning to squat down and grab his collar.

~~**~~


	4. Boulevard of Broken Dreams

**Well, I would have had this up sooner, but for those of you who don't live in or around the New England area and/or haven't heard about the ice storm that happened here last week, there's still a chunk of people who don't have power nearly a week later. It's been fun. Really. Anyway, I just made it back to my apartment to pick up my laptop since leaving on Saturday after they cut the tree that fell across my driveway out of my way and I still don't have power. They're hoping for the end of the week for a restoration - maybe. And now there's another storm on the way in. So I'm staying out of the area until the school I work at starts up athletics again - they don't have school until the new year now. So here's the next chapter, originally set to Green Day's _Boulevard of Broken Dreams_.  
Enjoy.**

**Chapter 4 – Boulevard of Broken Dreams**

Booth came to with a start and immediately wished he hadn't. Blood had poured down over his eye during his extended period of blissful unconsciousness and had since sealed his eyelid shut. The jagged gash just above his hairline was still seeping and the fiery pain that was emanating from it led to the dizziness and nausea that were now threatening to throw him back into the realm of darkness. Fighting through the haze, the Army Ranger tentatively worked on opening the injured eye so that he could size up the environment he found himself in. The room was small and the floor was broken down cement…_concrete, Bones would tell me cement is an ingredient in concrete, so the floor is actually concrete._ There was a flickering light bulb that provided the area's only light source, and from where he lay on the cold floor, Booth could see that the door looked to be a well-made solid door. He couldn't remember how long he had been in this place, couldn't remember seeing or hearing anyone in the surrounding areas, and couldn't remember the last time he had seen food or water. The chill from the floor brought awareness of the lack of shirt covering Booth's torso, and it brought back memories of the last time he had found himself in this predicament. At least when Gallagher had him that time, his shirt had remained intact. The metal dog tags that signified his identity were gone as well, and the lack of weight around his neck was startling.

When the door slammed open some time later, Booth idly wondered how badly he had been hit when the men threatening him with guns and shouting in one of those languages that he should probably know from his time in country was more comforting than frightening. He knew this game better than he knew the solitude game. He had been starting to wonder if someone had abandoned him in the small room just before his captors had burst in. He could play along with this game and continue to wait for rescue. The pain meant nothing to him as long as he wasn't alone with his thoughts anymore. It gave him little time to wonder if he was going to be able to set foot on American soil ever again, be able to tell Bones that he needed her with him more than anything, be able to see his son smile.

The circumstances were always different when you were caught. The people were different; the cell you spent most of your blissful unconsciousness in was different. _Hell, the reason you were taken is never the same._ Only they all are. The people want to hurt you as a means to an end; the cell is always a prison with little to no chance to escape. _Unconsciousness is a sequele to your brain being unable to function properly…oh God Bones, get out of my head._ The reason for capture was always to tell the American government to back off, only in far more vulgar terms. It was all part of a process that Booth wished to a God he hoped was listening he was never a part of again. _After this, I suppose._

Unlike last time he was a part of this, however, Booth was all alone in his cell. His spotter was nowhere to be found and the military in him found it unlikely that he was still alive. It made the screaming men and the haphazardly placed kicks that were fighting for dominance in his head easier to ignore when no one he knew was watching. He could simply curl in around his vital organs and distance himself from everything that was happening. One of his drill instructors had told him it was probably not unlike a schizophrenic split, but without the long-term psychological effects. The man had never been quite up to speed with the whole politically correct thing anyway, but Booth had gotten the picture all the same. This way was better. Let them do whatever they wanted to him and keep them from getting frenzied at the sound of his screams.

Booth thought of everything he could think of that would distract him. He recited the Act of Contrition in his head as well as the Nicene Creed and any other long prayer he could think of. He tried to remember as many of the bones in the body that his college-level anatomy class had made him memorize. He almost didn't feel the rib cracking and then splintering as a heavy boot stomped down on his chest. He definitely didn't see or feel the boot coming for the side of his head that sent him back into the darkness.

When Booth awoke again, he was mildly annoyed to find that he was not forgotten. _Apparently someone forgot to tell these assholes that soccer requires a ball, not a person._ One of the men was yelling something at him, but he had no hope of figuring out what was being said. He couldn't place the language, never mind trying to translate what was being said. He couldn't really hear over the ringing in his ears for that matter. He did, however, pick up fairly quickly that the man yelling was in charge. His dress was better, for one thing. And whatever the word for stop was in this language, when it was commanded by this man, there was no hesitation. Booth would come to love that word in the near future. He took solace in the momentary reprieve that this word granted him and used the time to catalogue his new injuries. He was sure that would be important later. Something about filling out reports and debriefing. He would have to figure that out when he got out of this place. If only the searing pain would stop long enough.

Booth's hands were shaking in front of his face as he waited for the onslaught to begin again. When it didn't, however, he chanced bringing them down so he could see what was going on. As he did, a bucket of cold, rancid smelling water was thrown over him, sending his body into involuntary spasms as it reacted to the temperature change. The thin layer of dirt that covered the concrete turned to mud that caked his bare torso and pants. He almost moaned at the offensive reaction to the liquid but caught himself in time. There was no good to be had with letting his captors have even the smallest victory. They would exploit it, no doubt, and the soldier wasn't sure he could take the added price.

He suppressed another shudder instead and forced his body to remain limp as it was lifted from the ground and deposited into a chair. His hands and feet were bound and a table was placed in front of him. Blood continued to drip from his chin as it washed away from where it had been caked around his eye. As a basin full of the foul smelling water was placed on the table in front of him, Booth began to take deep breaths meant to increase the oxygen levels in his blood as much as possible. He knew what was coming next.

A fist tangled into the short locks near the back of his neck made Booth snark inwardly at military regulation hair cuts. Clearly, his lack of strict adherence to this policy of late was coming back to haunt him. Someone squatted down next to him and drew his gaze away from the gray liquid. It sounded to Booth like the inflection of the man's voice signified a question had been asked of him, but all he could do was stare cluelessly at the man. It was easy not to break under pressure when he couldn't even understand what was expected of him.

Booth fought against the increased pressure behind his head until he was completely immersed in the water. At that point, he relaxed all of the muscles that he could and concentrated on the hand holding him there. He was searching for a lapse in the force so that he could break free of this new prison and gulp in some more oxygen before being forced under again. The first three times that he was thrust under the water, he was able to maintain the presence of mind to conserve energy and oxygen as much as possible, but as the time periods under water increased and those out of the water decreased, he slowly began to panic. He thrashed more readily each time he was put under, and strained against his bonds when he was pulled out, but he could see the blackness starting to encroach upon his field of vision.

_Must stay awake. Must not panic. Must breathe. Must fight. Must stay awake._

Spots of light exploded in front of him as he was pushed under once more. He knew that there was no chance for reprieve unless the man at his left deemed it necessary, and knew that there was little hope for kindness that this would happen before he was unconscious. Oxygen was becoming more precious as he began to drift between awareness and instinct, and he tried to calm himself down as much as possible. He was vaguely aware of the ire in his tormentor's voice increasing each time he was lifted from the water and remained mute, but there was nothing he could do to fix it. He wasn't sure if, at this point, he would have bothered trying even if he could understand.

He was coughing up water now and trying not to spill the rest of his stomach contents into the basin. Booth felt more than saw the man stand angrily and heard him shout something at another one of the men, but he was becoming more and more detached with the situation with each passing minute. It felt like hours since he had welcomed the company of his captors over the solitude, and had he been capable of educated thought, would have laughed at himself.

Someone was screaming at him again, and he turned his head lazily to face the voice. The man was making wild gestures and pointing at himself while trying to look important. Booth had seen it numerous times when interrogating suspects back home and read the language as if it was clear as day.

"I…don't…understand…you." He finally managed to choke out between gasping breaths, but it did no good and he was shoved under again. As he felt the back of his head explode in pain from being hit, the expression beating a dead horse came to mind as he succumbed to his brain's need to shut down.

The tranquility that surrounded Booth as he finally came to awareness for long enough to take stock of his situation comforted him. There was no one else around, nothing to prove to him that this was nothing more than a nightmare except for the feeling that his entire body was on fire. And cold. All at the same time. He began to systematically check off which body parts were functioning and which were currently useless and was dismayed at the results. He could barely do more than wiggle fingers and toes without having to force off unconsciousness. Breathing was an effort that he almost didn't want to waste energy on, and every time he did manage to inhale, he could taste the brackish water that had been all around him. The smell of bile somewhere to his left alerted him to the fact that this wasn't the first time he had woken since being dropped back in his cell, and he tried to roll further away from the stink. He could feel bones rubbing against each other throughout his body and wondered what Brennan would have to say about that clinically.

_Bones…oh God, Bones. Help me._

But he knew she couldn't. This wasn't like when he was FBI and stolen away by Gallagher. This wasn't like when he found her and saved her from Kenton or the Gravedigger. She may not even know he was missing, definitely wouldn't be able to do anything to find him. There would be no clues for her to find this time, no faith to hold strong to that he just had to hold on a little bit longer for her to figure everything out and come to his rescue. She had even reconciled with her father the last time in order to save him. But not this time. Not in these foreign grounds where he was as lost to her as he was to himself. But damn it all if he didn't hope that she would come bursting through that door to bring him home anyway. The soldier in him wanted her as far away from this place as possible. He knew she had been kept in a room like this once upon a time, too, and hoped that she never saw the likes of it again. But the man in him hoped beyond hope that he could feel her comfort again. That she would be able to take him in her arms and wash away the fears like he had promised to let her do if he ever got scared. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Booth was unaware of how much time had passed. He had dissociated himself from the daily beatings and shouts that he couldn't bring himself to listen to. The words grated on his ears, fighting through the blood that was pooling in the canals and assaulting his nerves. Nothing mattered to him anymore. Not the pain, not the sense of loss, not the fact that he was slowly coming to believe that this was never going to end. He wasn't ready to admit that he might die here, though he knew it was a possibility, but he couldn't see anything in his future other than more pain and misery. There was no one else around him to help him, no one to beat back the pervasive feeling of being alone. There was simply nothing to change the fact that he was a prisoner and was not serving a purpose.

But then the stakes changed. His captors unknowingly gave him hope. He heard the sound of newspaper hitting the floor by his head. He saw the flash of the camera bulb. He knew that a ransom was being asked and with that meant the possibility of rescue. It pulled him back from toppling over the edge into despair and gave him some fleeting grasp of strength to endure whatever else they had in store for him.

The next time Booth awoke, he was unsure of what was happening around him. The confusion of hot and cold was gone; the broken bones throughout his body were muted in their battle for dominance of his attention; the pounding in his head and the cotton mouth feeling were missing. The smell of his grandmother's soup was invading his space. His grandmother's soup, which hadn't been made since the woman died when he was sixteen. And it was that which broke through the dream and woke him from his cocoon of safety.

He had been hallucinating for sometime now, and was never sure when he woke up if he was going to be assaulted with the harsh reality that he was stuck in, or attacked with the thoughts of being safe once more. The brevity of those moments always made coming back to his current situation that much harder to deal with, and he found himself longing to break away completely. Even if it was only a ruse. Even if it meant that there might not be any coming back from the brink. But then an image of Parker would cross his mind, or Brennan's words would drift by his ear, and he would fight that much harder to hang onto his sanity. There was nothing for him here, that he was sure of, but he couldn't let the people that he loved back home down. He had to be strong so that he could get back to them and be able to protect them once more.

Of course that was easier to believe when he was being ignored. When he was all alone with his scattered thoughts and jumbled images of home. When his captors came in to drag him off to yet another round of horror, it was getting easier and easier to notice that the sound of his heart beating wildly in his ears would be the only thing to keep him company through the pain.

Another day, another photo. Another round of kicks and punches that were meant to hurt. But Booth was so far removed from the minor annoyances of bruising flesh that it was just another day. Just another break in the solitude that kept him grounded in his situation. But then he heard it. The last time he had been captured as a soldier, the crackling sound had intrigued him and he had turned to investigate the sound. But this time, the sound of the electricity that raced through the steel wool sent violent shivers coursing throughout his once muscular frame. The familiarity with this new form of torture set instincts of flight into motion and he fought with everything he had to free himself from the chair he was bound to. Thoughts of remaining detached and keeping any sense of victory from his jailers were long gone as he cursed and fought to get away from this new hurt. The smell of burning flesh assaulted his nose before the pain worked its way through to his brain. The guttural noises that he could hear were coming from his own throat, and the sweat that raced down his bare back and chest mixed with blood from other recent injuries.

His body was still wracked with tremors when he was finally deposited back in his cell and he pulled himself to the furthest corner from the door where he curled up in a small ball and tried to still his muscles. It had taken them three weeks to break him, and the tears that cascaded down his face now were stinging the cuts that littered his skin. He wanted to be anywhere but here, wished for it to a God he wasn't sure he believed in at the moment, and to a forensic anthropologist who he knew couldn't hear him. He wanted nothing more than to be caught in another one of his hallucinations, and to never come out of it. Even if it meant never holding Parker or arguing with Brennan again. He couldn't take it anymore. He was done. He was broken.

Nothing mattered anymore. Not the number of scars that were across his chest where the steel burned him. Not the fractures in his ribs and everywhere else. Not the bruises and lacerations and abrasions. Every time his captors came in to his cell, he started to shake, to beg, to claw and kick and pour every ounce of his strength into remaining in the safety of his corner. His actions were useless, as he was one beaten man amongst many, but the fact that he was starting to fight back snapped something inside of him. Special Agent Seeley Booth was not a man to be taken lightly, and he was not one who would go down without a fight.

They had begun to underestimate him, and as his senses came back, the Army Ranger in him started to catalogue the mistakes they were making. Before, they had come in with guns pointed at his chest and head to keep him from attacking them. Before, they had come in and tied his hands and feet before they dragged him from his cell. Now, they were cocky. Now, they were lax. And now, Booth had the chance to take control of the situation once more. He had the chance to reclaim his strong persona, to show these men that they may have broken his body, but they hadn't crushed his indomitable spirit.

Fists flew with calculated paths and the soldier blocked out the pain that every blow he was dealing was shooting through his injuries. He grabbed one of his captors around the neck and let a small smile grace his mangled face as he heard bones break. There would be time later to regret that he had taken human life if he made it through this. If he didn't, then he knew that his actions would most likely cost him his life. But there was no life for him inside of this cell, no way for him to make his amends, so he welcomed the chance he was taking. After all, he was a reformed degenerate gambler; what end could be more fitting for him?

Booth was lost and trapped in his own Hell as he tried to outlast his captors and claim some semblance of his own dignity back once more. As he was overwhelmed and beaten to the ground, he knew it was worth it. He was smiling at the sight of three dead men, knowing that while they were added to his balance sheet, he had dished out some of what they gave to him. Blackness engulfed him once more to the sound of familiar yells and loud noises, but there was still a smile on his face.

~~**~~


	5. I'll Try

**Chapter 5 – I'll Try**

Brennan woke up in a cold sweat that had her shivering and cocooning the blankets even more tightly around her. In the time that Booth had been gone, she had been having these nightmares with increasing frequency. The characters in them were different, but the end result was always the same: Russ dead on the ground, her father shot between the eyes, Angela in a pool of blood. But now…now that she had found out that Booth was MIA – and that was all the Army's need to know policy would allow her – they all ended even more definitively. Booth always ended up in pieces at her feet, clearly having been reaching out for someone to help him. She knew instinctively that it was a dream – there were details that proved as such. Unless Booth had been suddenly shipped from the desert to the old city in Quebec, unless he was being tortured inside the walls of Le Chateau Frontenac, unless he suddenly spoke perfect and uninterrupted French, Brennan knew that it was a dream. But that didn't set her mind any more at ease. She had always been in tune with Booth, and this separation had only served to heighten her feeling of emptiness without him around. The closeness they had developed over the past years frightened her. It was like the walls that she had spent years developing were non-existent to him, had never been an obstacle that he had to surmount.

Shaking the dream from her mind as she had done every morning since grieving the loss of her partner, Brennan re-read the last letter he had sent her and headed for the shower to get ready for the day. She knew that the hot water would serve as a reminder that she had to be aware of how she looked. Angela was at her side in every free minute now, making sure that she was all right, asking if she needed anything. The forensic anthropologist appreciated the gesture, but every time the artist asked it cut a little bit deeper into the walled-in heart beating in her chest. It should be Booth asking that, should be Booth at her side to offer a tentative "guy hug" or whatever he could disguise as being okay within the realm of "partners". How was she supposed to get along without him?

As the water ran over her face, Brennan could almost pretend that the salty tracks running over her cheeks were not there. It was the only place she allowed herself to be weak and emotional, the only few minutes where she could allow the feelings of being left behind again encompass her soul so deeply that it shattered the strong front she tried so hard to maintain for everyone else. She didn't need to be coddled; she had never needed anyone to take care of her when something awful happened. Brennan had learned that very quickly at fifteen years old.

A strangled sob escaped her defenses as she realized that Booth had broken through that façade as well. He had been there when she was kidnapped by Kenton, when she confronted Vince McVicar, when she thought her brother was dead. He had walked through fire for her on more than one occasion, and the last words she had said to him were in anger. Why couldn't she see then that he had just been trying to protect her again? No, she didn't deserve the cathartic release that the tears brought. She deserved to wall that pain up inside and suffer from it.

Besides, she could see the look on Angela and Cam's faces every day. She could see that the two women were taking a cue from her in how to act in the lab. Clearly, the two of them sensed the missing presence of her very own knight in shining standard issue body armor in day-to-day activities. She could tell that they both were missing him in their own way and she didn't need to add to their strife with her own pain. She would be strong for them and protect them; it's what she believed Booth would do.

Walking into the Jeffersonian had always been enjoyable to Brennan. She knew that she was doing important work and knew that her appointment here culminated from years of hard work and striving to become the best in her field. It had made looking at gruesome bodies of infants, children, and adults worth it because she knew that what she was doing gave closure to families and solved murders. She knew that she was helping Booth to fulfill his goal of evening out his cosmic balance sheet. But now, when she walked through the doors, she dreaded the day. Part of the job description included identifying remains of military personnel to send them back to be honored and to grant closure to their own families, but she couldn't help thinking what would happen if the family that she was granting that peace to was the one surrounding the body looking for tissue markers. What if she was asked to identify Booth's body?

Steeling her resolve, Brennan swiped her keycard and mounted the steps to the lab. There were bones already laid out and the members of her team were already hard at work with the latest set of remains to grace her table. The how's and why's didn't matter once Brennan was sure that this was a domestic case, and she settled into her routine with as much cool and calculating calmness as she could muster. If she could continue with her work as if nothing was wrong, perhaps she could convince herself that someday she would be able to be normal again. Maybe some day it wouldn't hurt so much to look over at the steps every time someone swiped their access card. Maybe she could make herself believe that everything would be okay without Booth there. And it started by making sure everyone else believed she had already accomplished these things.

Angela, unsurprisingly, saw past Brennan's façade like a glance through a window. She knew that there was a carefully crafted sense of control that the scientist required to be functional, and it always amazed the artist how so many bad things could happen to her friend. Angela was sure that if she had to go through half of the trials Brennan did, she would be curled up in a ball nearly catatonic. Perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration, but the ability to compartmentalize was a far more refined skill in the anthropologist's repertoire than in her own.

"How are you today, Bren?"

"I'm fine, Angela. Do you have the reconstruction finished yet?" Brennan's jaw clenched just noticeably at the word fine, and a quote from some movie Booth had made her watch once came to the forefront of her thoughts. _Fine…freaked out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional. Yeah, that's about right._

"Just about. Have you heard anything from the Army?" Angela was determined that she was going to get through this mask that her best friend was hiding behind. It couldn't be healthy to be this closed off.

"Angela, don't you think that if I had heard anything from them, you'd know? Rationally speaking…"

"I don't want to hear about odds and probability statistics, Sweetie. This is Booth we're talking about. He'll be fine. He's beaten the odds before. You've just got to have a little…"

"What, a little faith? That's Booth's territory, and his son's. Not mine. It's far more likely that we're going to be identifying his remains on one of these tables than see him walking through that door again. So forgive me if I don't want to talk about it."

"From what I've heard, you've put your faith in him before. And I've got it on pretty good authority that the odds were up on you when you were locked in that car with Hodgins. Maybe you could give him a little more benefit of the doubt." The artist turned away before either woman could see the hurt on the other's face at the thought of their FBI agent remaining lost forever.

Brennan turned away from the remains she was working to identify and made a beeline for her office. Couldn't Angela see that she wanted more than anything for Booth to come through that door and take her in his arms? Couldn't she tell that she would give anything to have him beat the odds again and come back to her? Couldn't she just get it that if she let herself believe he was coming back it would hurt that much more if he didn't? It was like a part of her was missing, had avulsed from her the day he left, and was now hanging on by the smallest shred of fascia that would tear completely when it was concrete that he wasn't coming back. Only his return could save that piece of her from becoming necrotic.

She tried to get through every day without thinking about it. Booth would have faith for her if he was here. He would be able to get her to believe that everything would be all right. He had once told her that it was better to assume that someone was alive than to dread finding them dead, and that worked for him. She had even told him it made sense. But she knew that she had said it for his benefit and not her own. She had believed that the little boy they were searching for was dead. She had believed in the statistics and the probability right up until Booth sent her that little boy's finger to search for the missing clues. And even then, she had doubted that the child would be found alive right up until she had seen her own Paladin rescuing him.

Tears threatened to break free from the corners of Brennan's eyes as she remembered what Booth had looked like rushing Donovan to safety. He had cared so much for that little boy; had been so furious with the situation. And yet he left her with nothing more than a promise that wasn't his to make. There were too many variables that entered into the equation. There was no way to guarantee that the sum of his actions would equal his homecoming. If she were completely honest with herself, Brennan knew that she was angry with the man who had wormed his way into her heart. She knew that his leaving had brought to light all these emotions that she wasn't willing to deal with alone. And yet, here they were, rushing to the surface as she bent her head over her desk. Hot trails of salt cascaded over her cheeks as she tried to brush them away angrily. There was no way she should be hurting this much over something that hadn't happened yet. That was the logical course of action. Whether or not it contradicted her beliefs that she couldn't hope for him to be alive somewhere didn't matter. All that mattered was that she could screw a lid back on her feelings until she was sure she could function. No one was better off with her breaking down like this at work.

It didn't matter what she thought at the moment, and she wondered idly if this was what Booth had meant that night in her apartment when he talked about learning how to feel again. Maybe this overflow of emotions that had so obviously been building up over the past few weeks was what he was trying to avoid every day when he wore his heart on his shirt…or on his sleeve, she wasn't sure of the saying. What she did know was that she had to get a hold of herself so that she could go back to work. She couldn't expect anyone else to get any work done if she looked the way she must right now. Once again, she took heart in the letter that Booth's spotter had forwarded to her after he went missing. Brennan clasped Jasper in her palm and used it to re-center herself. The toy pig and Brainy Smurf had spent a lot of time in her pocket recently, and when she had first realized she was doing it, Brennan made a vow to never comment on Booth's impatient tic of flipping his poker chip or bouncing that ball. She understood it a little bit better now.

With her emotions back under wraps once more, the scientist made her way back to the platform. She noticed immediately that the bones on the exam table were not the same ones that had been there earlier. For one thing, the gender was different – these were male. And for another, there was still tissue matter gracing these remains. Both Cam and Angela were looking at the body as if it had reached out and burned them. This was normal for Angela, but the look on the pathologist's face had even Brennan ill at ease. An expert on reading body language she was not, but even a novice could read the fear and regret that her boss exuded.

"What is it?" Brennan wanted nothing more than to retreat back to the safety of her desk at the moment. To wrap herself up tightly in the cold exterior she portrayed so often as she detached from the once upon a time nearly debilitating pain she felt at connecting with the victims she identified.

Cam tore her gaze away from what may prove to be the hardest identification her team had ever had to work on. Caroline Julian's words came back to her and she scoffed at them again as she had at that pre-trial briefing. _This is just another case._

"The…the military sent over a set of remains for identification. They're being pretty tight-lipped on the details as of yet – still checking the new clearance requests of some personnel here before they'll release details." Cam's voice had become detached and professional, her body following suit as she found comfort in the science behind it all. "They sent over an updated list of MIA soldiers."

Brennan nodded, but she could feel her knees going weak. The tissue markers that she could easily discern from this distance were that of a Caucasian male in his mid 30's, approximately six feet tall. She felt herself shaking and staring at the body. Angela's repeated attempts to assure her that Booth was coming back rang through her head now and she wanted to scream at the artist that this was why she never listened. She couldn't do this. She couldn't be the one to identify Booth's body. Her breath caught in her throat as she continued to jump to conclusions without evidence. She needed to examine the remains more carefully before she could conclude that this was indeed her partner, but her feet refused to move towards the table. Instead she found herself backpedaling until she came in contact with the railing. The momentary sting of hip to metal shook her enough that she tried to get a hold of herself once more. But it was almost immediately after that when she caught sight of the skull and superimposed Booth's charm smile over the maxilla and mandible.

The scientist wasn't sure how or when she made it back to her office, nor was she sure how long she had been sobbing in Angela's arms, the artist's own tears soaking her hair. It was like the dam had broken and she couldn't plug the hole again.

"It might not be him, sweetie. There are far too many names on that list to make that assumption."

"But it might be him, Ange. It could be him lying on that table and I can't…I just can't. I need, I need to get out of here. I need to…I just need to get away for awhile."

"I'm not letting you run, sweetie. I'll take you home if you want to, but you've done this before. You can't run away from this."

"Can't I?"

"No. I need you here for this. Booth needs you here for this. Do you really want to dishonor him if that is him out there by abandoning him to someone else for identification?"

"I…"

"Do you really want to chance that if that is him, he's going to lie in limbo for an unknown expanse of time? Do you want to let Parker sit and wait for his father for years like you waited for your family?"

Brennan's eyes widened as she thought of the child who had begun to put more and more trust in her since his father had left. The little boy who had tried to regale her with tales of his favorite Disney characters. The miniature version of Booth who had already inherited his father's tenacity and charm. If that man out there was his father, Parker deserved the truth. He wouldn't understand it now, but someday it would be better for him to grieve his father now than to wait for someone who was never coming back.

It was that wait that had turned Brennan into the woman she was today, and while she would never change who she was, she definitely wouldn't wish her adolescent years on anyone's child, least of all Booth's.

"It's the last best thing that I can do for him, isn't it, Ange?"

Her best friend smiled – though it didn't reach her eyes. "You got that one right, Bren."

With new resolve, Brennan turned back to the exam table and started to make notes. Tears were once again stored away for the safety of her shower and the privacy of her own apartment. Observations were made and samples were taken before the remains were passed off to Cam for her part. Brennan sank into her chair as she waited for the next round of observations after the bones had been cleaned.

Never one to sit idly and mull over things as Cam had once mentioned doing, Brennan found herself cataloguing the emotions she could feel warring inside her for dominance. There was determination, which Booth would tell her wasn't truly an emotion but a characteristic. She was definitely determined in many ways – to identify her latest case, to maintain some semblance of control over her own life, to figure out what to do if it was, or was not, Booth lying out there. She was angry – at herself, at Booth, at her job, at the Army. Everything she was angry at had a part in Booth being in the situation he was in now. She was afraid. That one was the hardest one for her to admit to. Temperance Brennan did not scare easily. She had faced down death squads and drug lords and gang leaders without flinching. But one set of remains held sway over her entire state of being. The man who was represented by those bones was so ingrained into her life that his permanent removal, her loss of the rock that anchored her would shatter her. So much of who she was revolved around the changes that had come about from knowing him. All she wanted was to have him back bringing her Thai food or some small token of his understanding.

She stewed over what that meant for awhile longer before heading back to the remains. She owed Booth her life on so many levels, that she would give him his identity back he was indeed waiting on her table.

But the first thing that she noticed of the now clean bones – after seeing that Angela had already been given the tissue markers for reconstruction – were the skeleton's feet. She ran her gloved hands along the bones to be sure, and checked the rib cage and clavicle as well.

The first smile that had graced her features all day spread across Brennan's face as she raced off to find Angela. There were no old fractures on any of the bones she had examined. It was statistically impossible that the soldier being identified was Seeley Booth.

Angela questioned her multiple times, and then finished the facial reconstruction just to be sure, but the only similarity between this soldier and Booth were the base characteristics of a middle-aged white male. It filled Brennan with a new feeling that, if she was honest, she had avoided feeling since before she was fifteen years old – hope. This last scare had solidified in her what Booth had tried to tell her so many times – that there are more things on Heaven and Earth than science. Logically, she had no more reason to believe that Booth was alive now than she did before the identification, than before the body had arrived. But for once, it didn't matter. It didn't matter to her that the odds were stacked against him. It didn't matter that she had no proof. _Brain and heart, Bones._ _Brain and heart._

She began to doubt her feelings almost as soon as she realized them, but forced that doubt back down. She had been in a daze of sorts for too long now, and she wasn't going to continue to dread something that hadn't happened yet until she had cold, hard facts that showed her that Seeley Booth was dead and gone. It made as much sense to her as believing he wasn't coming back, and she clung to her new resolve.

No one had noticed the man in uniform as he spoke to the security guard at the base of the platform. Business had returned to it's usual after the soldier-scare that ended earlier, and all were hard at work with a 'safer' skeleton that appeared to have died of natural causes sometime in the late 1800's. When he was admitted onto the platform and stood at attention, waiting to be acknowledged, he wondered which person he was required to pass on his information to. His job of contacting loved ones was one of ups and downs, and while he wouldn't regret what he did, it most assuredly made some days harder than others.

When the soldier was finally noticed, he heard the collective intake of breath and took note that all eyes turned to the red-headed woman off to his right. He turned sharply and questioned, "Dr. Temperance Brennan?"

Angela moved to her side and silently laid a hand on Brennan's arm, offering as much support as she could muster while looking to Jack for guidance and strength.

"Yes?" _Don't dread what hasn't yet come to pass, Temperance. He could be here to deliver good news. You don't know that Booth is gone. Breathe. Exhale. Now inhale. Wait, listen, he's speaking again._

"I was sent to inform you…" the rest of the words were drowned out as she began to shake. He hadn't said regret. That was the only thing she could cling to as she asked for a repeat of the statement. _He's all right. I know he's all right. Damn it, Temperance, listen to the man._

"Ma'am, I was sent to inform you…" The rest of the words didn't matter as Angela's squeal of excitement split the air.

"He's at Walter Reed?"

"Yes, ma'am. Walter Reed Army Medical Center. He was evacuated there from in country late last night. He made sure as soon as he could that someone was sent for you."

Brennan took one more look at Angela as if to confirm that what she had heard was true and not just a desperate grasp of her imagination. Seeing the artist nod and smile in a way that had been absent since Booth was declared MIA, Dr. Temperance Brennan was out the door and on her way to find her other half so quickly those bearing witness would swear it wasn't humanly possible to cover that much ground in that little time.

~~**~~


	6. Let Me be the One

**Chapter 6 – Let Me be the One**

The room was dark and smelled sterile. There was a beeping emanating from somewhere just out of sight, and there was a light breeze crossing his bare chest. When his fingers moved slowly, there was a feeling of scratchy material over them and lumpy mattress underneath them. Even the air tasted different – cleaner, safer somehow. All of these sensations lazily entered Booth's consciousness and helped him to solidify himself in reality. This was not the cell he had spent the last lifetime in. This was one step closer to getting back to his boy, to his Bones – the two people who had kept him going when he thought his body was going to give in on him. He had promised them that he would come back for them – though he had never said the words out loud to one. He had been so angry at her, and she at him. He wondered if the words he had thrown at her to help them both detach would keep her away now. He wondered if he would have the strength to return to the world of "normal" without her. _There's just nothing for me here, anymore. So maybe this comes at a perfect time. Just…I have to get on with this._ Those were the lies he had spit out to make her back off, to make it easier for him to follow orders to the hell he had found himself in. But what if she couldn't get past his anger? _She said she understood that I was lying, but did she really get why I was doing it?_

Booth was vaguely aware of the nurse puttering around his bed, and couldn't suppress the groan when she began to change the bandage over his eye. He still remembered the blood caked so thickly over his eyelid that he couldn't see out of it, and had briefly feared that there was permanent damage there. It frightened him enough to peel his eyes open now and take in his surroundings for the first time.

"Sir, sir can you hear me?"

Booth managed a nod. It didn't seem to send fireworks through his skull like he thought it would and he realized that whatever medicines they were pumping through the IV in his hand were worth it.

"Sir, you're at Walter Reed, you were evac'd here late last night. Your parents have been notified and were here briefly earlier today. They left you a message to let you know they were going to pick up your son and bring him here."

Booth nodded again, an image of Parker flashing through his mind. His little boy was just what he needed right now. The thought of his parents coming to make everything all right just like when he was a child began to lull him to sleep. They would take care of everything for now.

The nurse was almost out the door when Booth realized that his parents wouldn't know to get in touch with Bones.

"Ma'am?" his voice sounded weak and painful to his own ears, but it was loud enough to stop the woman.

"Yes, sir?"

A memory of a promise made in his bathroom during an otherwise awkward situation passed through his thoughts. _Next time I die, I promise that I will tell you._

"Can you please have someone sent to the Jeffersonian to inform Dr. Temperance Brennan that I'm here?" A fit of coughing wracked his frame and left him gasping for air.

"Your girlfriend, sir?" the nurse asked after helping him back to a state of ease.

"My…my partner. I just, please I need her here. If she'll come."

When he next awoke, it was to the remnants of a dream of his rescue. He sent a quick prayer of thanks for the men that found him in the nick of time before realizing that his right arm was numb. That was a new sensation from the last time he had taken stock of his condition, and as he tried to move his fingers to restore feeling, he became aware that they were tangled in someone else's hand. As he once again peeled open his eyes, he found why his hand was without feeling. There was a head of auburn hair using the crook of his elbow as a pillow. The sense of relief that flowed through him was unmatched by anything since a nurse told him long ago that his baby boy had come into the world in perfect condition. In all that he had been through since leaving the nation's capital, the fact that she may have moved on without him scared him more than anything else. He wasn't sure when she had become so integral a part of his well-being, but he was sure more than ever that she had become his corner stone and didn't want to let her out of his sight ever again.

Brennan became aware of the pressure building in her right hand as she began to wake up. The pressure turned into a slight squeeze and her surroundings came back to her as she sat up quickly. "Booth?"

Booth was well aware that his partner's eyes changed colors depending on her mood. He had started to catalogue them a while back, and even through the drugged haze that he was currently enjoying he could see the color for hope and the color for fear warring with each other for dominance. It was perhaps one of the most mystical things he had ever witnessed. _Or maybe it's just that you're high, Seeley-boy. Remember the lights on the ceiling that Christmas?_

"Bones?" The timbre of his voice hadn't improved any since trying to talk to his nurse before, and he almost choked on the single syllable that passed through his lips.

The plastic cup of ice chips caught Brennan's eyes as she started at his voice. It had been so long since she had heard it without static or other interference, and it made the fact that he was here in front of her all the more real. He was not waiting to cross her examination table and be identified, he was no longer MIA, he was no longer out of her life. Her knight in shining FBI standard issue body armor was back with her and despite the fact that he couldn't currently protect her against a bumble bee; it put her more at ease than she had been since slamming his door that night.

The ice chips felt amazing sliding down the back of Booth's throat. "Do you know how long it's been since I've had ice?" he whispered when he felt that he could get a full sentence out. Another spoonful made its way to his lips, but this time the cold attacked him and set him off in another fit of coughing. The smell of brackish water assaulted his senses and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He was back in that room, being held under water until he finally sucked it into his lungs. Booth started to panic.

Brennan sat back and set down the cup to wait for Booth to settle again. The nurse had told her that he was suffering from an upper respiratory infection that they were monitoring in case it matured into pneumonia. She expected the coughing fit and did not think much of it until she heard the wheezing. Looking up in alarm, she saw the wide eyes that sought to lock on to hers, begging for help. Hands alternated between grasping the bed rail on the side away from Brennan and clutching at ribs that were being jostled by the fit. She saw his head fly back into the pillows and then come forward so quickly that she wondered about the state of his neck after the motion repeated. Brennan saw Booth try to roll to his left side for some relief and pulled on his right shoulder before he could complete the motion. She kept him steady on his back and allowed him to grasp her hand in his own to ground him once more. With her other hand, she pushed the call button and then grabbed for the morphine dispenser forgotten at his side. By the time the medical staff had responded to her calls, the man in front of her was lost in his own dream world again.

There was a small, huddled mass near Booth's left arm the next time he opened his eyes, and the mop of curly hair that was tangled in his fingers brought a smile to his face that only a father understood. Without looking down, the soldier knew that his little boy had climbed into the bed with him and was napping with his face smashed into Booth's hip, his back wedged against the bedrail.

"The nurses asked me to move him, but I thought he needed to stay there," Brennan whispered. She was rewarded for her decision with Booth's charm smile as he adjusted his fingers in the boy's curls.

"I'm going to head out for awhile. I promised Angela I'd let her know how you were doing, and that was before I got here. Your parents are outside making phone calls; I told them I'd stay and watch Parker until you woke up. They'll be back inside in a few minutes, I'm sure."

The hurt look on Booth's face confused Brennan, but he nodded and turned his head back to his boy. She waited a moment longer before moving to gather up her things. "I'm glad you're back, Booth."

"Then why are you going?" The words were so soft that Brennan wasn't sure whether or not it was her imagination allowing her to believe that he might need her more than as a professional partner. Booth hadn't taken his eyes off of Parker while he spoke and Brennan sat down again, waiting for him to try again. He would have to give her more than that before she would let loose.

Booth heard her sit down and took as deep a breath as his ribs would allow. The fear that tore at him when she stood had actually given him the resolve to throw his weakness into the ring so to speak, hoping that it would keep her in the room with him a minute or two longer. With her there, he knew he was safe. And with Parker here too, it felt right. _There's more than one kind of family._

Just as she was about to convince herself that she had indeed imagined the question, it came again. This time, she was graced with his gaze as he silently pleaded with her to indulge him.

"I just, you should be with your family now. I came to see if you were all right, and you are, and I should get back. Visiting hours must be almost over anyway and…and I'm not…I should be…you should have…you're all right, so…"

He saved her from her rambling inadvertently as his fear of her leaving overrode his sense of protection. "I'm not."

"What?"

"I'm not all right. Not without you here. Please stay?" He fought against the painkillers that were threatening to suck him back into peaceful oblivion until she nodded and took his hand again. He smiled as he realized that she didn't really want to leave either.

"You'll be here when I wake up?"

"I will."

As he nodded off, Brennan reached for his medical chart. She could see the surface evidence of his time in captivity. She knew about the compromised lungs. But she needed to know beyond that. It was how she dealt with almost losing him. No one had told her how close it had been, she didn't have that kind of pull with the Army, but she knew from Booth's reaction that it had been too close for comfort. The folder in front of her would allow her to piece together a little more of the story. It briefly crossed her mind that Booth wouldn't want her to know the story, but maybe this time she needed to be his protector.

Exhaustion, dehydration, malnutrition – those jumped out at her right away and were dismissed as par for the course. They didn't tell her the story behind his captivity anymore than the fact that he was lying in a hospital bed did. The jagged gash above his hairline that was hidden behind the white gauze had required forty seven stitches to close after being debrided. That led her to believe that it bled heavily and for an extended period of time, and that it appeared to be the oldest of his wounds. It had reopened often before being treated as it had not healed to any extent over the time period. This wound was also most likely the source of the original concussion that he was suffering effects from. There were notes about ruling out second impact syndrome with his first neurological check, but this proved that he had suffered multiple concussions in a short period of time. There were a series of x-rays which illustrated the extent of physical torture he had endured. But perhaps the most alarming to Brennan was the results of the EKG that were still being discussed by the team of physicians overseeing Booth's care. She could see the burns on his chest, but hadn't equated them with electrocution until reading over the note to the attending to monitor his cardiac systems for signs of compromise. Here was the proof that Brennan needed that she had almost lost her partner in some God-forsaken land without her there.

Tears marred her cheeks as she cupped his jaw in the palm of her hand. Parker mumbled something in his sleep and readjusted himself into a more comfortable position. They looked so much alike in sleep that it startled the scientist. She knew that the boy was the main reason that Booth had made it back alive, but a small part of her brain, _Booth would call it the back of my brain_, hoped that she was part of the reason as well. She knew about Booth's line, knew it was a defense mechanism so that he wouldn't get anyone else hurt. She didn't think that it was a worthwhile line, wasn't really sure how one drew a line like that in the first place. _Was it wrong to hope that this experience would help him to erase it?_

_Fists flew with calculated paths and the soldier blocked out the pain that every blow he was dealing was shooting through his injuries. He grabbed one of his captors around the neck and let a small smile grace his mangled face as he heard bones break. As he was overwhelmed and beaten to the ground, he heard the men from the SEAL unit sent to retrieve him. They were shouting orders and subduing insurgents outside the room, but they didn't seem to be coming any closer. He could hear them as they searched the rooms around him, and could see the fists flying as his captors took out their anger for the three men he had killed._

_Or thought he had killed. One by one they rose and took their revenge on him. He could see the knives that sliced bits of skin from his arms and torso. He could hear the sound of electricity crackling. And yet no relief came. The sounds of the SEAL team died off and Booth knew that there was no chance of rescue now. They had abandoned him to his fate. He was an unnecessary risk._

When Booth awoke with a start, he wasn't sure if it was the nightmare that was trying to hold on or the hallucination of being safe trying to take over his reality. Everything seemed so real in both worlds, seemed to be the absolute and utter truth. He couldn't make himself see which was the figment of his imagination and which was real.

She noticed the catch in his breathing as his eyes darted rapidly throughout the room. He wouldn't stop to focus on any one thing and it seemed as if he was trying to take in everything at once. It was like he couldn't figure out where he was. But he had been lucid the last time they had spoken. He had been aware of his surroundings. The doctors had said that they were worried about the effects of several concussions and had tossed around the term second impact syndrome enough times to have Brennan worried about her partner's reactions now. Angela's words from long ago came rushing back to her now. _I'm talking about being there for him, knowing when a simple touch is enough._

With her fingers shaking slightly, as if unsure what this would bring in terms of reactions on both her and Booth's part, Brennan rested her fingers lightly on his forehead for an instant before sliding them back through his hair. His breathing began to slow just a fraction and it gave her more confidence. She repeated the action and was rewarded with Booth's eyes settling on her. She looked deep into them and saw the uncertainty, the turmoil. It clutched at her stomach and she was thrown back to the first night after being rescued from certain death at the hands of the Gravedigger. _He just woke up, he's looking around lost, he doesn't know this is real._

"I'm right here, Booth. I promise. You're safe now."

Booth's eyes slid to half mast as he relaxed, partially a realization that he was truly home, partially due to the drugs and the soft feel of Brennan's fingers soothingly running through his hair. "Of course I am," he mumbled, trying to sound as cognizant as possible. "I have my big, scary martial arts expert to watch over me."

Booth's eyes slid fully closed, but opened again at the sob that erupted from his partner. It was supposed to be a joke, but the effect of his words broke through Brennan's walls completely and she realized just how close she had come to losing him, and just how overjoyed she was to have him back. The emotions that coursed through her left her dizzy and struggling to find something solid to balance herself out with. And for the first time since his door had slammed behind her all those months ago, Brennan could see her rock - it was lying in the bed before her. He may be broken and bruised, sick and weak, but he was there for her to secure herself against the gale force winds that had been threatening to tear her apart. She barely restrained herself from throwing her body across his chest, still mindful of his healing injuries, but laid her head on his shoulder and tried to become one with him. This last escapade had been too close to being the final goodbye; and that frightened Brennan more than even her parents and Russ leaving her behind ever had.

But he was here, in the flesh. He had come back to her like he promised he always would. Maybe it is okay to have a little bit of faith. Maybe I can trust that he won't leave me behind like everyone else did. Maybe I can let him in.

Booth's eyes opened a little wider as he felt her shaking, felt the emotional turmoil that was rocking her to her core. As much as he needed the reassurance that he was safe and was going to be fine, as much as he needed to know that he wasn't going to wake up back in that hole, lost and forgotten, as much as he needed to feel that he would be able to overcome this debacle, Booth knew that her pain took precedence. It always had and it always would. Healing her pain would solidify for him that he would be all right. It gave him a sense of purpose, gave him something to strive for in every moment.

Making her feel safe meant that he was more than just someone's tool, someone's pawn. It gave him a shred of control over his own life. And that was more important to him now than it ever had been. Since his whole being was dictated by some no-name terrorist with nothing better to do than make threats and punish him for being American. Nothing else mattered at the moment than easing her strife, and he painfully wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to his chest, tugging her to him until she slid onto the thin mattress next to him. Their hearts beat as one as they took comfort in each other's embrace, realizing that no matter what they were going through, the solution could be found as long as they were partners. It was all that mattered.

The soft sounds of sleep were muffled by heart monitors and the hum of the oxygen tank in the room, but the mumbling that signified the start of a nightmare caught Angela's ear as she looked in on the center of their team. With the two cocooned in each other, it was hard to tell who was dreaming, but a slight shift and a thin hand that subconsciously stroked the other's cheek let the artist smile at what she had known for years. With the two of them together, anything could happen but they would always find their way back to each other. Laws of physics could indeed be broken and Booth could do for Brennan what Angela had never figured out how to do - he could teach her to fly.

~~**~~


End file.
